


sleepless days

by mnemememory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, spoilers for episode 89
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemememory/pseuds/mnemememory
Summary: There are scars across Yasha’s body that she doesn’t remember getting.(or; yasha hasn't slept in a week)
Relationships: The Mighty Nein & Yasha, Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 90





	sleepless days

…

…

**sleepless days**

…

…

It’s the worst thing in the world, knowing that she’s dreaming.

The first time Obann knocks her out, Yasha is tired beyond her bones. Her heart is pounding loudly in her ears: _no, no, no, no_. She has blood caked underneath her fingernails that she wants to wash off, but can’t. Every time she tries to move towards the water, Obann stops her with a look.

“Alright, Orphanmaker,” Obann says, the sky awash with ink and blood. “Sleep.”

Yasha sleeps.

…

…

“Welcome back,” Caduceus Clay says, blood on his forehead and a savage grin splitting across his lips.

…

…

Yasha wakes up.

…

…

There are scars across Yasha’s body that she doesn’t remember getting.

After a while, everything had become… _blurry_. Out of focus. Less. She has to retreat, has to save her energy for when it really matters. The back of her neck burns with phantom, aching fire. Yasha reaches around and scrapes her blunt nails across the tender skin. She doesn’t know what it looks like – she hasn’t had the guts to go to a mirror and survey the damage. She knows it isn’t pretty.

Yasha has blisters and bruises and red-white-black marks that turn her body into an unfamiliar canvas. She sits in the bath and stares at the lines on her thighs, at the still-healing sore in the space between her thumb and wrist. She rubs it raw and bleeding, stomach heavy with a now-familiar weight. Yasha hadn’t been able to hurt Obann, but she had been able to remind herself of who she was.

“We should go to an underground fighting ring,” Yasha says, and it’s because she wants to have fun. She wants to have _fun_ , wants to filter out some of the antsy energy that has been building hot in her muscles for days. Yasha isn’t quite on the verge of throwing up every meal she eats, but it’s close.

Obann hadn’t wanted her to starve herself, so Yasha hadn’t. Her hands had forced food down her slack throat every day for _months_.

Here’s her question: _how do you ask forgiveness for this_? Because Yasha doesn’t think she can. Yasha isn’t good at thinking, period. The only time her thoughts had been her own was during the night, starlight fading underneath the glow of the campfire and Obann’s eyes burning hot against her throat.

“You think too much,” Zuala says, snuggled up next to Yasha. Her fingers are threaded into Yasha’s, her head resting on the crook of Yasha’s neck. “Stop it.”

“You’re dead,” Yasha says. In her dreams, she is allowed to talk.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right,” Zuala says, leaning up and kissing Yasha’s cheek. “And you need to wake up.”

Yasha is shaking.

 _I can’t_ , she wants to say. _I can’t go back there. Not to him. Not to the way he looks at me, not to what he makes me do_.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Zuala says.

“You’re _dead_ ,” Yasha says.

…

…

Yasha wakes up.

…

…

“Come on,” Yasha says. There’s blood on her teeth. “ _Hit me_.”

The face in front of her swims. She definitely has a concussion – probably some cracked ribs, a fractured wrist. Yasha can barely keep her sword upright, can barely keep her _self_ upright, but she’s grinning like this is the best thing in the world. Maybe it is.

Obann-Beau-Kal-Molly-Caleb _flinches_ , and it’s _wonderful_.

But she doesn’t want this, Yasha reminds herself. She doesn’t want the fear, she wants the release. She doesn’t want the pain, she wants the end.

She keeps going. She goes closer, she leaves herself open, she holds him down and she waits.

They end it. The people-person-thing in front of her snaps a fist forward, and Yasha closes her eyes and breathes in through a broken nose. She’s got blood clotting her throat and lacerations down her body and it’s over, it’s over, thank fuck it’s _over_ and Yasha can just –

…

…

Yasha goes to sleep.

…

…

“You’re worrying people,” Jester says, sitting cross-legged in front of her.

Yasha closes her eyes and leans back against the dead wood of the lightning-struck tree. “You’re not real.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Beau says. “You need to get a hold of yourself.”

Yasha laughs until she’s breathless and gasping.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Caduceus says.

“I can,” Yasha says. “I _can_ , this is my body, I’m _allowed –”_

“You’re no good to anyone like this,” Fjord says. His voice slurs between accents, face blurry and distant.

“I’m not good to anyone anyway,” Yasha says. Her voice feels thick, like there’s something pressing heavy into her throat.

“Don’t try to kid yourself,” Nott says. Her teeth are sharp in her smile. “You’re terrified of us.”

“I’m –”

“Yasha,” Caleb says. They’re alone in a field of flowers, storm-clouds broiling in a perfect ring across every horizon imaginable. “Yasha, this is not a way to heal.”

Yasha shakes her head. The pain is coming. She can feel the bruises underneath her skin, can feel the cuts bleeding clear into the air. Consciousness comes at such a steep price.

…

…

The first time –

There are so many first times.

The first time Yasha bit Obann’s fingers as he stroked them along her jaw. The first time she burned her hand so badly she couldn’t swing a sword for days. (She did anyway). The first time she killed someone at his request.

Yasha sleeps in sunshine, face upturned and flowers spreading out across to every side. There are shackles at her wrists and ankles, a weighted band across her throat, and Zuala kneeling to her left.

“I love you,” Zuala says, pressing a kiss to Yasha’s forehead. “But you’re being stupid.”

Yasha starts to cry.

“You’ll get through this,” Zuala says, cupping Yasha’s chin in her hand and leaning close. She is achingly unfamiliar, from the near-forgotten warmth of her eyes to the strong lines of her jaw. Gentle thumbs brush away Yasha’s tears. “Don’t give up.”

…

…

Yasha wakes up.

...

...

**Author's Note:**

> this is a prompt fill for the lovely @illusion-of-death on tumblr 
> 
> More details [here.](https://mnemememory.tumblr.com/post/190098399803/good-morning-australia-is-burning-im-sure)


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